


Our Words Have Wings

by PetrichorPerfume



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Begging, Bondage, Chastity Device, Dom/sub, Dominant Aziraphale (Good Omens), Light BDSM, M/M, Miracles, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Submissive Crowley (Good Omens), Wing Binding, Wing Grooming, Wing Kink, Wing Oil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 05:42:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19419619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PetrichorPerfume/pseuds/PetrichorPerfume
Summary: Inspired By This Kink Meme Prompt:"So what I need like burning is for Crowley's wings to be folded up and chained, (because lets be honest, Crowley is totally the submissive in their relationship, not a bad thing, I love it!).Then for Aziraphale, when Crowley has earned it somehow, or just whenever he pleases, or if Crowley begs prettily enough, he will sit him down in front of him, undo a single wing and stroke it, and preen it etc, then lock it back up before doing the same to the other, leaving Crowley a whimpering, happy mess.Cookies for Aziraphale being a bit of a bastard sometimes and teasing Crowley dreadfully when his wings are still bound, and having Crowley touch his as often as possible."





	1. Our Words Have Wings

**Author's Note:**

> I recently got addicted to Good Omens, and I saw this prompt and couldn't not have a go at it. I also desperately needed a break from my original WIP, so I decided to write some good old fashioned porny fanfiction like it was the good ol' days. I hope you all enjoy!

_He will be like a tree firmly planted by streams of water, Which yields its fruit in its season And its leaf does not wither; And in whatever he does, he prospers._

That day began much as an ordinary Tuesday might – breakfast, from a bakery on the other side of town that specialized in nearly all things delectable, but above all, they were known for the “delightful things they do to seasonal fruits.” Aziraphale’s words, not Crowley’s.

That should have been his first warning that something was amiss. Aziraphale’s tastes tended to lean more towards the classic, and the bakery was as avant-garde as it was possible for a bakery to be.

When Crowley returned to the bookshop, he found Aziraphale sitting quite properly in an arm-chair, back straight, legs neatly crossed, sipping a cup of tea – Earl Grey, from the smell of it, or perhaps Aziraphale’s newly discovered near-favorite, Lady Grey. Crowley didn’t have the nose to discern much of a difference between the two, but the other insisted they were worlds apart, and what Aziraphale wanted, he generally got, at least as far as Crowley was concerned.

He wasn’t quite sure when the angel had taken the lead in their relationship. Aziraphale had evolved from claiming Crowley was going too fast for him to becoming his Dominant at a speed that still gave him whiplash, if he thought about it too hard. Crowley had made the first move, but it was always, always Aziraphale who got the final word.

“I have a proposition for you, dear,” the angel said, smiling that wicked little smile of his – the one make Crowley’s knees go weak, and his wings unfurl in interest. Aziraphale followed the movement of his wings with a watchful eye. “I see you’re already interested.”

“Perhaps,” Crowley said, taking a seat in the chair opposite Aziraphale, leaning back, and spreading his legs. It was a clear signal, but Aziraphale didn’t look in the slightest bit moved by it.

“I recently acquired another book,” Aziraphale said. Crowley sat up a little, and frowned for good measure. He zoned out a bit; just the thought of talking about books at such a time made him want to roll his eyes, but Aziraphale had taught him well. Respect was a virtue, the other said.

“So, what do you think?” Aziraphale asked, beaming.

Crowley narrowed his eyes. “Sounds... Lovely. Quite,” he added, fishing in the bag for another pastry.

“You didn’t listen to a word I said,” Aziraphale accused.

“Nope,” Crowley admitted through a mouthful of fruit.

And Aziraphale, never one to be deterred when there was something he wanted, acquiesced, far, far too quickly. That should have been Crowley’s second clue, but it wasn’t until later, after dinner, when it was beginning to dawn on him that it might be a good idea to tempt Aziraphale to bed – that he stepped on his third clue.

“Chains,” he muttered to himself. “Aziraphale,” he called, “if we’re doing something kinky you can at least have the decency to warn me.”

“I did try this morning,” the angel said from the bed. With a wave of his hands, Crowley’s clothing had been miracled away, but his own was still firmly in place, everything except for his bowtie, which had been loosened ever so slightly. “Come here,” he beckoned, softly. “Wings out.”

And who was Crowley to disobey? Already, he could feel himself growing hard, and there was nowhere to hide from Aziraphale’s hungry eyes.

“I want to try something new with you. I found a binding spell in the book I was telling you about.” Aziraphale began to stroke the demon’s wings, first along the tops, smoothing down the wayward feathers and preening it.

Crowley moaned low in his throat at the ministrations.

“I just thought it would be so lovely to have your wings all tied up like a little present for me, just for a little while,” Aziraphale purred, and Crowley’s brain short-circuited.

“My wings?” He asked, voice trembling.  
  
“Shh,” Aziraphale soothed. “It won’t hurt you; I made sure of that.” He licked his lips. “It’ll just keep them folded up, nice and snug, so you wouldn’t have to worry about being... Tempted... To touch yourself without my permission.”

Crowley studied Aziraphale’s face. “You really want this?” He asked, more curious than anything. He could see in the other that he did; there was this sort of burning desire that only came out when his angel was incredibly turned on; and suddenly Crowley wanted nothing more than to fuel that fire.

“Yes, very much so,” Aziraphale confessed. “But not if it would make you unhappy, dear.”

Crowley shook his head. The thought of his wings, being bound, felt like the ultimate act of ownership on Aziraphale’s part. He would be completely at his angel’s mercy. “Let’s do it.” 


	2. But Fly Not as We Would...

That had been Tuesday.

Three long days later, his wings were still bound, and Aziraphale had been a right bastard – coercing Crowley into grooming the angel’s wings while his own quivered with sheer need and preening himself at every turn, when humans were watching, no less, and Crowley couldn’t very well act up in front of a customer; an unhappy Aziraphale meant quite a few guilt trips and errands to far-flung parts of the city for obscure and difficult-to-transport things like ice cream in July, and scalding hot cocoa in the depths of winter, and apple cider that was spiced just right in the autumn-time – it often took a miracle or two to get these things to Aziraphale in good condition, and the angel was no stranger withholding sex when he was in one of his moods, and though Aziraphale was starting to look ruffled by the end of the day, Crowley was more desperate than his partner by leaps and bounds, and was willing to do anything – anything – if Aziraphale would just take off the chains and play with his wings in the way only he knew how.

“Well, that’s closing time,” Aziraphale said, and though his back was turned to Crowley, hands busying themselves with the actions of locking up for the night, Crowley could hear the smile in his voice. “Meet me in the bedroom, dear. I’ll be right along.”

And Crowley all but ran to comply, prompting a dark chuckle from Aziraphale, who had trained him well enough that he was presenting, kneeling on their bed, knees spread wide, cock already hard and practically leaking already at the thought of having his wings touched – finally, finally – when Aziraphale deigned to join him.

A cool hand settled between his shoulder blades, taking care not to brush against his bound wings, and Aziraphale huffed out a ghost of a laugh. “Eager, are we?”

“Very,” Crowley agreed.

Aziraphale sat down in front of him, and slowly, so slowly it hurt, drew out a skeleton key from his trouser pockets, unlocked the padlock keeping the chains in place, and unwound the intricate lacing of the chains. Crowley hissed in pleasure when the last of the chains was free from his wing, and was overcome by just how fast he was falling into subspace. “Give me a minute,” he breathed.

Aziraphale’s hand came up to rest of his cheek, and the other was smiling so beautifully that it lit up the entire room. “Take your time, dear,” he said, obliging, and Crowley just leant into his touch until he felt grounded enough to continue.

“Okay,” he said after a moment, voice warbling.

“You’re doing so well for me,” Aziraphale praised, and Crowley smiled a little, because he loved it when his angel said that, or anything along those lines. “Come a little closer,” he instructed, and Crowley slid forward on the bed until they were all but pressed together, his free wing easily assessable.

Then there were fingers in his wings, and he moaned long and low at the feel of them, slowly easing apart his cramped feathers, working the oil through them, slow and deliberate and teasing all at once.

“Please,” Crowley said. His breathing was heavy, and he was practically incoherent with pleasure.

“Yes, dear?” Aziraphale’s voice was shaking a bit more than it had been before, but Crowley barely noticed.

“Please,” he repeated, closing his eyes and burying himself in Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“Use your words, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, and it was the most commanding tone he’d used in a while, which caused something within the demon to fracture just a little bit; but it was alright, because his angel always put him back together again.

“Please, touch me. Fuck me; take me; claim me – make me yours. Please, angel; I need you so bad.”

“I’m right here,” Aziraphale teased, coaxing another low moan from Crowley as he dug his fingers in, gently, going deeper, fingertips wiggling into the other’s down feathers.

Crowley made an aborted effort to kiss Aziraphale, but the angel expertly distracted him by finally, finally paying attention to his oil glands.

“My, my,” Aziraphale cooed. “Aren’t we wet? Is this what three days locked up for me does to you?”

“Yes,” Crowley hissed, drawing out the ‘s’ as Aziraphale began to smooth out the oil across his fingers. He desperately wanted more – more of Aziraphale, more of the angel’s ministrations, more of everything.

When Crowley got impatient enough to try to tug at his angel’s overcoat, Aziraphale stopped what he was doing and raised one slender eyebrow at his demon. “You really are _desperate_ , aren’t you?” His hand was still coated in oil, and he reached between them to give Crowley’s cock a few leisurely strokes. It had the demon keening into the curve of Aziraphale’s neck, and he reached the edge so quickly that he would have been embarrassed, had he had any presence of mind whatsoever.

“Don’t stop,” he breathed out. Of course, Aziraphale took that as his cue to still his hand and wrap two fingers around the base of Crowley’s cock.

“No,” he whispered into Crowley’s ear. “Not yet, and certainly not tonight.”

“Please,” Crowley hiccupped, thinking he’d go mad from need if Aziraphale kept this up much longer.

“Shh,” his angel soothed, running his free hand through Crowley’s hair. “Look at me.” Crowley did. His angel was smiling down at him, as if he’d hung the stars in the sky himself. “You’re doing so very well. And we’re halfway done, so please, love, no tears.”

Crowley hadn’t realized he’d been crying until Aziraphale came to wipe up his tears, fingers so soft and gentle that he never wanted for them to go away. “Kiss me,” he begged, and for a moment he thought Aziraphale was going to ask him to say please, but then there were a pair of soft lips against his own, devouring him, claiming him, _owning_ him, and he thought that he could handle anything, so long as Aziraphale was by his side.

“Just like that,” Aziraphale praised. “So good for me, Crowley.”

“For you,” Crowley agreed.

“Come, let’s you wrapped up again,” Aziraphale whispered, and Crowley’s free wing quivered at the prospect of being locked up again, but he let Aziraphale bind him once more and say the incantation that would keep them secure, and then turn the key in the padlock – which was more of a reminder from Aziraphale that he was owned, completely, and loved, just as thoroughly.

The next hour passed in a bit of a haze for Crowley, as Aziraphale untied his other wing and began the same teasing, tortuous ministrations – he barely registered the low, keening sounds he had been reduced to making, only the pleasure of it all – building and building and never being able to be released, and the way his other wing kept trying to flare out, but it was secure in Aziraphale’s chains, and though it didn’t hurt so much as _ache_ , in the same way his cock was aching to be touched, or sucked, he was still desperate to be free, desperate for the unbearable pressure Aziraphale had been building in him for the past three days, desperate for more than light, teasing touches.

“Well, that’s quite enough of that,” Aziraphale decided after a small eternity, and Crowley made a small, pathetic-sounding noise at the back of his throat.

“No, please,” he pleaded, clawing desperately at Aziraphale’s shirt – the overcoat and the vest had come off at some point during the night, and he could both smell and see the angel’s arousal, but he knew there was an undershirt amongst those layers. “Please,” he sobbed, fully expecting Aziraphale to rise from the bed to reapply the chains, but when he looked up, his angel was looking at him with concern in his eyes.

“Color?” The angel prompted.

Crowley took a minute to think. As badly as he wanted to come, he wanted to be owned by Aziraphale more – wanted to surrender control, wanted to earn Aziraphale’s whispered, “My good boy,” he waited up to hear every time they played. “Green,” he decided. Aziraphale didn’t look quite convinced, so he added, “Definitely green.”

At that, the angel smiled brighter than the sun, and leaned in to share a tender kiss with his beloved. “So very good for me, Crowley,” he whispered against the other’s lips. “I hope you know you are loved; and by none more than me.”

Crowley just nodded; later, when Aziraphale was pretending to sleep, he’d whisper those words back, but right now, they seemed to heavy to wrangle his usually silver tongue around.

“Good. Now, come on; let’s get those beautiful wings of yours trussed back up.”

Aziraphale bound Crowley once more, and then and only then did he undress himself for Crowley’s eager eyes, and let the demon suck him to completion.

Afterwards, once they were both curled up in bed, Crowley still making small little sounds of need every once in a while, Aziraphale offered to go to the kitchen to see what snacks he could scrounge up, but Crowley just clung to him, and with a sigh, he miracled up some éclairs for them both.

“You know I love you, right?” Aziraphale asked, eyes wide, as if he were suddenly the one in need of comfort.

Crowley snuggled closer to him. “And I love you,” he said. The words came more easily than they usually did, and they both smiled as they sat and ate their éclairs in a comfortable, familiar silence borne of millennia of standing at each other’s side, and having one another’s back – millennia of hovering on the edge of something just like this; something perfect and theirs alone; something that made them both deliriously happy, something that fulfilled and completed them both in equal measure.


End file.
